his heart is a secret garden and the walls are very high
by maddieclaybourne
Summary: eighteen minutes, one walkway, ten inches of oak. at least in theory, that's the distance between them. until he responds to her declaration of her feelings for him. patrick/sabrina


**~*~his heart is a secret garden and the walls are very high~*~**

**pairing: patrick drake/sabrina santiago**

**fandom: general hospital**

**rating: t**

_**sometimes the greatest journey is the distance between two people**_

His house – home, she reminds herself steadfastly – _his home_ the one he made for himself, his wife and their little girl, is approximately eighteen minutes [depending on traffic] from her apartment. Her heart [like always] flutters at the memory of the first time she made the journey up its walk way, leading to the painted hardwood door that separated the two of them from each other.

That first night hadn't gone as smooth as she would've liked. More like she crashed and burned, and only succeeded in continuing to make a complete fool out of herself in front of the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

It didn't help that his daughter seemed to hate her on sight.

Since then, things had changed. She [somehow] got Emma to open up, to make her smile and soon they were inseparable.

**X**

So all that separated Sabrina Santiago from Patrick Drake was eighteen minutes, one stretch of molded concrete filling, and ten inches of oak. In theory, anyway.

**X**

In reality, so much more separated the two of them. So much more that the eighteen minutes, one stretch of molded concrete filling and ten inches of oak, were at the very bottom of the list.

At the very top, of course, was Dr. Britt Westborne. She had her sights on Patrick from the moment she set foot on the linoleum floor of General Hospital. Not that Sabrina was any different. She had eyes, after all, but she wasn't flouncing around the locker room half-naked in an effort to get the good doctor's attention. She wasn't batting her eyelashes, licking her lips or parading around in tight fitting skirts and the highest of heels either.

No, she was stumbling over her words, nervously adjusting her glasses, sighing blissfully as she got lost in day dreams [fantasies] that had no hope of ever coming true.

She was just his daughter's babysitter and a helpful nursing student who was at his beck and call.

Nothing special. No one that would catch his [very attractive] soulful chocolate eyes.

**X**

Then there they were – on his couch, sitting side by side – on New Year's Eve; just before the clock was about to strike the ending of 2012 and usher in the beginning of 2013. Dressed in the well-tailored black suit, his dark hair styled just so with product and in the dim light of his living room, he looked better than she thought he ever could.

Her heart was pounding inside her chest; so loud, she _swore_ he could hear it too.

He smelled wonderful; woodsy and crisp, but clean at the same time.

And instantly all that was separating them were centimeters.

He was leaning in and she was powerless to stop him; her every fantasy coming true.

His lips touched hers; soft and warm, the plushness she'd admired from afar now touching her own, and she did a little fist pump inside her head, thanking God she remembered to wear lipgloss.

**X**

It was over, the kiss, as soon as it started. If you could even be so bold as to call it a kiss.

And once again, the distance between them was like a chasm.

There was Britt whispering in her ear, as taunting as ever, about how she had made him uncomfortable, how she'd thrown herself at him. Just the thought that he felt that way, made her stomach churn violently and bile rise in her throat. Her hands got clammy and they shook, and all she could think to do was to put even more distance between them.

It wasn't real, the flicker of hurt that showed through his chocolate depths, she told herself. It couldn't be real. She was just his daughter's [former] babysitter and the helpful nursing student that was at his beck and call.

Nothing more; no matter how desperately she wished she was.

**X**

The distance shrunk after Britt had revealed her true colors. Going as far as to tell Emma that she didn't like her, making the little girl run off in tears. She found her way to the hospital, telling Sabrina everything and pleading that she be her babysitter once again.

Those big cinnamon flecked hazel eyes were impossible to refuse. Just like the relief she could see drowning inside Patrick's chocolate orbs.

Her heart fluttered and her cheeks were stained red.

So once again it was just the familiar eighteen minutes, the molded concrete filling and the ten inches of oak that separated them from each other.

Or if you asked Elizabeth and Felix it was her stubbornness to keep how she felt from him. But as far as she was concerned, she'd take the eighteen minutes, the molded concrete filling and the ten inches of oak.

In the end, all of those things couldn't stop him from talking to her like telling him how she felt could, and that was too dangerous of a risk for her to take.

**X**

Then Elizabeth had to go and take a chance on A.J. Quartermaine. She had to throw caution to the wind, to open her heart, no matter the consequence, and if she could do that; how could she continue to just sit on the sidelines, to not take the same chance with Patrick?

So with butterflies – at least a million or so – fluttering in her stomach and after a lot of stumbling, she told him how she felt. It was excruciating, the waiting for his response; each second without a reaction from him feeling like thousands of tiny needles pricking at her skin, un-relenting and painful.

His plush mouth fell open, and for once the shape wasn't distracting. He was gaping at her; soulful eyes wide and stunned. He stumbled over the word, "Pardon?," and it was like her first time babysitting for Emma all over again.

She'd crashed and burned. So horribly. But before her mind could run away from her, conjure up all of the awful possibilities of how he was going to let her down easy, his pager beeped. He had to perform emergency surgery on a patient, so at least he couldn't see the tears welling up in her eyes and how they were starting to fog the lenses of her glasses.

Thank God for small favors.

And once again, so much more was separating them.

**X**

So here she was, placing one foot in front of the other [concentrating like she she was when she re-took the nursing exam], as nervous as she was that very first night, and she crosses the concrete filling. She hears the sound of her sneakers on the ground, how there aren't leaves crunching underfoot like that very first night. Spring's just on the horizon and all the leaves from fall have been swept away long ago.

A small smile comes to her face; remembering jumping in a pile of leaves with Emma. Patrick caught them when he came home; those irresistible dimples coming alive in the corners of his mouth, and her heart felt like a caged bird inside her chest.

Her hand forms a shaky fist when she finally reaches the familiar door, but before she can find the courage to press her knuckles to the wood, the door swings open.

Her breath catches in her throat [like always] when she finds his strong, lean frame filling the doorway. His hair, she swallows because she can't help it, looks like his fingers have sifted through it and it's stupid but she's jealous of his own fingers. How many nights as she laid awake dreaming of the chance to run her fingers amongst the thick tufts of his dark hair?

"P-Patrick," She sputters, like him opening the door to his own house isn't a normal occurrence. "H-how... D-do you always open the door before someone k-knocks or r-rings the bell?"

"You're always five minutes early when you babysit."

It's just her imagination [it has to be] that he looks sheepish; faint blush staining the beautiful tan of his skin. Her heart still flips and her stomach still fills with butterflies from him knowing that she's always five minutes early. Just knowing he pays attention to anything she does has her head spinning.

Even though she knows he doesn't feel for her what she feels for him.

"I was hoping we could talk."

The words she's been dreading he'd say to her finally leave his plush mouth, and she wants the ground to swallow her hole. To just open up [suddenly] beneath her feet and let her sink below.

Letting out a shaky exhale, she swallows and says, "O-okay," hoping he doesn't notice the fear inside her voice or the sweat breaking out along her brow.

**X**

She wants to put as much distance between them as she can; purposefully choosing the high-backed chair that's a foot away from the door and not the couch. The couch is the last place she wants to be. On that very couch is where he kissed her, where she had finally felt the touch of his mouth on hers, his strong surgeon's hand cupping the curve of her cheek and being able to inhale the wonderful scent of his cologne.

She can't sit on the couch.

"Don't." His voice makes the memory [so bittersweet now] fade away.

"W-what?" She blinks.

"Don't be afraid. Don't put unnecessary space between us. Don't look like you're going to bolt the first chance you get." He sounds frustrated, and her brows furrow.

Her teeth can't help but sink into her lip as she watches his fingers sink into his hair, roughly, because the play of his lean muscle rippling underneath the smooth fabric of the blue button-down he wears is so obvious. Her cheeks burn from how she's letting her mind run away with her, lead her down the road of fantasy that has proven to be nothing more than a dead end.

"I-I..." She can't even finish a sentence, her voice just dribbling into nothing.

Then he's right in front of her; soulful chocolate depths boring into her own dark eyes, and she doesn't know what to do. She feels like a deer caught in the headlights. Her heart's suspended inside her chest, hanging by the thinnest of threads, her pulse pounding in fear of just what he could say.

"Sabrina," Goosebumps slide along her skin from him saying her name. It's low and rough, like it's coming from the deepest part of him. His hands – those strong competent surgeon's hands – are touching her face, cradling the smooth curves of her cheeks and they're warm – so warm – and she's not even sure she's breathing.

"I know I didn't react the way you wanted me to when you told me how you felt," She closes her eyes on instinct, and then his voice is in her ear, gentle and smooth sounding like fresh honey on a warm spring day, "Look at me," and she's powerless, so her eyes flutter open.

"I really didn't know." He's sheepish, looking far more boyish than she's ever seen him, one gorgeous dimple peeking out from his plush lips curving into a small smile. "Epiphany knocked some sense into me," He laughs and she can't help but warm from the beautiful sound. "She said something about how if I couldn't see how you felt then I shouldn't be operating on people's brains. Pardon... Well, that wasn't me at my most eloquent, but telling me you were falling for me was the last thing I thought you were going to say. I wish I had handled it better. You've been so good to me. I appreciate everything you've done for me and for Emma; more than you know..."

"But," She interrupted, heavy sigh on her lips. "This is where you let me down easy. It's okay. I understand. You're still grieving, still reeling after what happened between you and Dr. Westborne..."

"Stop." He cuts her off before her rambling can continue. "Just listen, okay? You're a great girl; smart, helpful to the point of running yourself ragged, an amazing friend, dedicated, and you're stronger and more tenacious than you give yourself credit for. You're also..." His throat bobs as he swallows. "You're..." He reaches up, removing her glasses from her face. "Pretty," His dimples peek out. "With or without these. But I've already kissed you with them, I was thinking I could kiss you without them."

"Patrick..." His name is caught in her throat, coming out in a way that's somewhere between a strangled gasp and a breathless keen.

"You're not here to babysit tonight. It was all I could come up with. I used to be," He laughs. "So much smoother than this."

"Y-you w-want to kiss me?"

"More than I realized until Epiphany went and knocked some much needed sense into me. Felix might have helped too. But I think his ego's healthy enough as it is, so we'll just keep his involvement in me pulling my head out of my ass to ourselves, okay?"

"S-ssure." She manages, heart threatening to burst from her chest.

**X**

There's no distance between them now. Not the eighteen minutes, the stretch of molded concrete and ten inches of oak. Not Dr. Britt Westborne. Not her fear. Not anything.

It's natural how her petal like lips mesh with the plushness of his. His movements are gentle and slow, fingers gradually coming into sink into the nest of her thick curls while hers shake as they cradle the back of his head.

They pull apart as slowly as they came together; her pale cheeks flushed and his dimples bright and full, making her heart flutter.

He slides her glasses over her ears, pushing them onto the bridge of her nose and in a husky tone that will haunt her dreams and plague her days says, "Still pretty."

**X**

That kiss secures that there will no longer be any distance between them.

Just the small amount of space that comes from when she rolls over on her left side when they're in bed, but somehow in the morning, she always ends up right back in his arms; her back pressed against his solid chest, his face busing the curve of her neck and his fingers always roaming over her skin.


End file.
